


When is a monster not a monster

by languageismymistress



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, The Gods are either good or useless, The Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:37:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6048394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageismymistress/pseuds/languageismymistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heart to heart, here them race, feet to grass, the start of the chase.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When is a monster not a monster

Beating of the drums and the cheers and sorrows of those now lost to him were all that pumped through his mind. His feet were fast and body slick but to beat the beast that has the advantage is nothing one could do. He knew he was going to die, those around him with the same fate written over their faces. King Wells looked over them, a greedy smirk on his thin lips and a look in his eyes that could pierce a heart. Soon he will be with his mother and father, a time that not long ago was all but a dream to young Bartholomew. This was the ending of the dream and the beginning of the nightmare. All in white with no hearts to mourn, all that die will be new born. Heart to heart, here them race, feet to grass, the start of the chase. 

 

The room was dark, he heart all but an echo, he knew that way around the maze, his eyes to the light. He was travelling along, not one for the mass, he had a better chance to survive for long than a gasp. Words whispered to themselves of broken lips, no movement would break his more learned tips. The grass grew higher, the screams loud, one must be focused on being lost in the crowd. Fourteen started, he counted them all, to who knows the number now all he knows is to remain ahead of the ball. Feet quick of Hermes, eyes lightning sharp, his breath caught in his throat, needing to be naught of sound. 

 

The story is known all around the town, of the boy called Mardon who was given a crown. From his head grew horns of tusk, his pain and agony still can be whispered about town. No man questioned why the gods would punish the boy, all that was known was that young Mardon was coy. He and his brother, two thieves of the town, no Hermes in sight when Poseidon came round. Here was where the tale grew point, Clyde was on rocks, the cliff too much, goodbye to dear Clyde, no honour would dock. Mardon grew angry and shouted to the water god, to bring back his brother with a defiant nod. 

 

For the god Poseidon was not one of fond beings, he knew that the boy Mardon was not showing all of his means. Mardon was young, reckless and foolish, to the eye he could be a child of Ares. His head held high, Poseidon did smirk, and here is where Bartholomew often lurched. The horns that grew were from the skull, his head disfigured and no pain was dulled. His parents all gone, no care for their son, to King Wells, he went begging at once. Wells cried at the body of the figure, hunched over and taunt, the pain did linger. Wells ordered for the maze to be built, Mardon was satisfied but Poseidon was not. He cursed the child who did call him names, and there is where Barry became suck in the maze. Mardon was given one last reminder of who was in charge and that be Poseidon. The thirst for blood and taste for flesh was that the last words that the curse would mesh. Here Mardon laid in the maze full of tricks, all doors and mirrors, grass all thick. No one could enter and come out alive, once you entered no chance to survive. Mardon knew how the maze was built, Barry prayed to Hermes to give him a tilt. A chance to breathe while the other thirteen to dwindle, he knew his chance were of the same. 

 

The grass was deep and both green and red, all covered with bones of those who were dead. He kept to the wall and followed the corner, sighing in relief at nothing behind it. Here was his break, his feet run ragged, his chest was heaving and breathing hagged. No more sounds would follow and sneak, he could do this he prayed for the meek. The screams that shock him down to the core, he had seen death and heard it before. Nothing like this of snaps and breaks, he knew for those others, at least no more aches. 

 

His feet crunched under the twigs, a smell of death followed him. The sound of thunder and breeze of fog, he hated knowing what was to become. With match in hand, he was ready to light, the beast of the shadows coming into his sight. Blood smeared over his face and chest, Barry could only wonder would could possess. His mind must have been tortured by Hecate, for his monster is all but not that. His face was that of Barrys youth, his hands shaking with bone and grit. Teeth bared open and sharp, all Barry could hear was the sound of a harp. His hand reached out to wipe the blood from his mouth, this was no longer a man nor a monster was about. 

 

“Help,” The beast, Mardon, did speak.

 

“With what?” He could see him weep.

 

“My horns grow heavy and my life is same, I do not want this to be this way,” Mardon spoke with thunder in his breath, Barry could feel himself wanting to protest.

 

“I hate the taste, the bones hurt my throat, I am all but a monster, who is going to the underworld,” Mardon spoke as his tears fell down, Barry was softened but was this just a clown, a way to make Barry give pity before he drew his last drawn breath.

 

“I cannot live on no more, please help me with the final death call,” Mardon held a bronze dagger before him, Barry had recognised it as one of the others.

 

“Straight to the heart and one swift blow, my worries will go and I will no more,” Mardon held the dagger before him, Barrys hands wrapped around his thoroughly.

 

“I can but why, you could apologise,” Barry didn’t know why he was stopping. 

 

“I tried all the time but to deaf ears was I begging,” Anger blew through Barrys veins, his mind deciding for him with thunderous rage.

 

Dagger in skin is not a sound that is pleasant, but the relief on Mardons face gave Barry a question. Was he to go back with attention and plunder, for doing something humane and with thought or wander. He held the blade and watched the life go from Mardons eyes, his held still stuck to the metal. Here he made his lasting call, one quick blow and down to all. 

 

His eyes were awoken with hands over his heart, his mother and father, finally at last. Here he stood on the bound to joy, with the sound of that thunder raging the storm. He looked to the east then the west, there was Mardon no horns but with jest. He hand on a shoulder that must be his brother, a smile of pure heart and wonder. Their boats were separate, Barry wondered why, here he goes to Elysium, but the Mardons to the Styx. 

 

This was where mind made new, a plan that would satisfy his heart. He knew of Eurydice’s, he harp and song that won over Hades and Persephone not too long. He could do this and with haste he went, he didn’t know why but his mind was set. He told Hades the tale of his brother Poseidon, Hades only saddened but not surprised in the slightest. A deal was struck and hands a shook, Mardon was called for, Barry could only look. Mardon and Barry sat side by side, watching the flames of the above collide. They could sit and talk and jest, but that was all. Barry could never give him a hold. No touch or kiss would tender to him, he could just give comfort when al Mardon was used to was sin. Both saddened but their love grew stronger, a whispered word in Hades ear and Persephone could be a wonder. 

 

For the day of their deaths, it was decided, that both men could walk Earths ground, sullied and live. The first walk they took was spent under a tree, hands in hands and lips never to leave. Each year they wanted for that one day, and here must the story end, come what may.


End file.
